I had a very long dream.
I dreamed that the war was over. I went back to Cambridge to teach, and Andrew went to the Royal Society for Mathematical Research. We live at 73 Pigeon Street, Cambridgeshire. Andermond has planted gorse on the window sill, which blooms warm yellow flowers every spring. We have a library, a piano room and a large terrace.
Andemont pushed open the bedroom window and stared at the quiet street outside in the morning.
I hugged him from behind and said, "Honey, the war is finally over."
This dream was so long that I almost thought I had spent many years in it. Anderson and I are both old, my hair is gray, and he is on crutches. We walked on the avenue in the evening, discussing the proud young people, and sighed at the same time: "It's good that the war is over."
When I woke up, I was no longer in the hotel. Edgar took me into a windowless room. It looked like the interior of an abandoned building, with bare gray bricks and no cement. Dim electric light illuminated the room in its entirety.
There is only a white bed in the middle, and the electric lamp is hanging on the head of the bed. There are many boxes scattered around the corners of the room, one of which has an open lid, and there are all kinds of military uniforms inside. I saw the uniform of the Italian Navy, the uniform of the German Army and the RAF uniform that Edgar was wearing to meet me.
The most striking thing about the whole room is a painting on the front wall.
It was a large oil painting in a delicate white frame.
The young man in the painting is lying on his back on the lawn under the tree, with his head resting on his bent arms, and the afternoon sun falls on his face, mottled. It was a flowering tree, and large white double-petalled flowers fell beside the young man, one of which fell on his short, brown hair. The young man kept his eyes closed comfortably, as if taking a nap.
It reminds me of the illustrations in Wordsworth's Lyric Poems.
Because the room is dark, the sunlight on the canvas is particularly dazzling. I remember this scene. It was the summer of 1939, and we were on holiday at our country house in Cambridge. I lay under a tree full of unknown white flowers and he squatted beside me, told me he was going to join the RAF, and bent down to kiss my closed eyes.
"I said I was going to do a good job. Now you see it, Ellen."
Edgar opened the door and came in, put the bacon and bread for lunch on my bedside, and nodded to me: "How do you feel?"
I noticed that he brought in a pre-war ham of bacon and soft toasted white bread, with a small glass of wine.
"Can you take the cuffs off?"
"Sorry, no." Edgar sat down beside me. He brought a radio, turned on the knob, and the theme song "My True Love" of "Gone with the Wind" was playing on the radio. Edgar seemed to like this piece very much, he closed his eyes intoxicated, and hummed softly along with the music.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked him.
A long nostalgic melody unfolded in the room, and Edgar told me the truth of the matter in a low and slow voice.
"Edgar. Hillrath. I didn't lie to you." He looked at me: "In this world, not only Andy Garcia has a double identity. My father is German and my mother grew up in England." of the Italians ... they were all working for the Berlin intelligence system."
"They sent you to Cambridge to study oil painting?" I couldn't believe it.
"No, how is that possible? They sent me to Cambridge to spy on Andrémon García. As Professor Wesson, he has been in close contact with the Cambridge academic community. We suspect that he recruits talent at Cambridge in some way. Now you know Now, why did I like you so much at the beginning, but I could only let you go after Andermeng. Because only if you approach him, can I approach him through you. "
"You're using me."
"You can't say that, Ellen. It was love at first sight for you. If I ever wavered about anything, it was for you. I said I loved you, Ellen."
"But you never told me."
"Because you never take relationships seriously."
"I'm serious." I protested.
"To Andy Garcia?" He smiled mockingly, and reached out to touch my face: "Andy Garcia has hidden you since you entered the damn code-breaking agency. My Eyeliner lost track of you, I didn't even know you were in love... the only way to contact you was to write to you as a friend. You should remember that I warned you to be careful of the black shirts - every letter reminded you."
"Yes."
"You remember Lena Selman? That blond English woman, like a stray cat."
"She's Andrew's fiancée," I said.
"Yes, she was one of the agents of our empire in England, a participant in the Blackshirts. You know, she was burned at home."
"Read it in the newspaper."
"Before she died, she sent a long, secret message to the Berlin General Intelligence Bureau. The secret message only mentioned you, saying that you were the best code-breaking expert in the British Intelligence Service. If you died, the British intelligence cracking plan would at least Ten years late. This secret message passed me directly to the top of Berlin, and the final decision was to assassinate you. I took the initiative to accept this mission. Alan, I was in... very painful. But I had no choice, and I didn't want anyone else to accept this mission. "
"I've been trying to protect you," Edgar said with a strange smile, "I even gave an order to keep you alive."
I suddenly remembered what Linna said - the young eagle said, to keep you alive.
"You are a young eagle?!"
He didn't answer, just moved closer and put his arms around me: "Sorry, I can't disobey orders. But I can inject you with LSD, as long as the dose is large enough, you won't feel any pain at all. It will be a battle." Wonderful experience, sanity will leave you forever, the Alan Castor I loved will disappear from the world forever, leaving his shell, smiling at me every day."
Arnold had mentioned to me LSD, a psychotropic drug. It was one of the main drugs used to brainwash Nazi concentration camps. When I was locked up in Code Z for my homosexuality, Linton added LSD to my medication in small doses.
I remember being mentally unstable and anxious, like a nightmare.
"I'm going to be an idiot," I told him.
"Oh, yes." Edgar agreed gently: "But I don't mind, my dear. I have already drawn the Alan Castor I love and collected it in my sketchbook."
I felt the same despair a second time.
I am eager to see Andymond, and I want to tell him everything, including the young eagle, including Linna. I want to tell him that Edgar already knows the existence of Plimpton Manor. However, I can only be imprisoned here, waiting desperately.
Edgar came to see me three times a day, bringing breakfast lunch and dinner. He would talk with me, talking about interesting things that happened when we were in college, who the girl I was chasing is now married to. If it weren't for the heavy handcuffs, I almost thought that time had turned back, and we had returned to the peaceful era before the war.
But all I felt was deep despair.
"The doctor who gave me LSD has not been in touch. You may have to wait for a few days, Alan." He told me gently.
"You are crazy."
"Yeah, I'm crazy." He always agrees with me.